


the long road

by gandrshot



Series: a fever dream [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Character Development, F/F, Ghost Town Gunfight, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandrshot/pseuds/gandrshot
Summary: "No, Goodsprings needs you. I don't want to take you away from that." She frowned. "And anyways, I just... want to walk this road alone. At least for a little bit."That was an answer Sunny could drink to.





	the long road

**Author's Note:**

> for clarification, the courier/sunny is something that's there between them, but never takes off into an actual relationship. i wasn't sure how to convey that accurately through the tags.

"Cheyenne, stay." As soon as the woman walked through the door, she was hit by a dog awfully friendly for one who was supposed to be the companion of the town's staunch protector. Then again, maybe it had more to do with the woman than the dog. Her owner - who must have been Sunny Smiles, based on how Doc Mitchell described her - immediately went to grab the dog's scruff, keeping her from bombarding her anymore. "Don't worry, she doesn't bite. Unless I tell her to."

 

"It's okay. I like dogs." The woman dropped to her knees and busied her hands scratching behind Cheyenne's ears, much to the dog's delight.

 

"You're that courier Doc Mitchell patched up, right?" Sunny ducked down to scratch Cheyenne's neck, too, smiling across at the woman. "I'm Sunny."

 

"Cosima." Her eyes didn't lift to meet Sunny's.

 

"You sticking around Goodsprings a while longer?"

 

The courier shrugged.

 

"Well, I know after what you want through you probably need some help getting off your feet." Though, Sunny eyed the sniper rifle on her back - old and well used, but in incredible condition. Well loved for all the action it saw. "How's your aim been doing since he patched you back up, do you know?"

 

Another shrug. Sunny frowned.

 

"I got some Sunset Sarsaparilla bottles out back that need shootin'. Wanna join me, see if we can't shake the cobwebs off and see how you're doing?"

 

"Maybe later," Cosima replied, coldly. "Thanks, though."

 

And with that, she stood up, went straight for the bar, and left Sunny in the dust without another word.

 

* * *

The courier frowned down at Chet's lackluster selection of ammunition when the door to the General Store swung open behind her.

 

"Are you sure you don't have .308s in storage?" Sunny heard her ask as she crossed the floorboards to the counter, Cheyenne trailing behind her and trotting right up to Chet.

 

"I'll double check, but I don't think I missed anything last time the caravan rolled through. Hi, sweetheart." He paused to scratch behind the ears of the dog who'd come to greet him first and foremost, before letting her trot around the counter to see Cosima next as he ducked his head into the storage cabinet off to the side. "Got some hides for me, Sunny?"

 

"Yep, plenty of the little monsters today. When's the next caravan stopping by, you hear?"

 

"Next Thursday." As Chet pulled his head from the cabinet, he shook his head, attention turned back to the courier. "Sorry, nope."

 

Her shoulders slumped. "I'm good on ammo for now then, thanks. I'll just take those stimpaks. Oh, and- the boxes of mac & cheese."

 

As Sunny dumped the seven hides she'd managed to gather up onto the counter, she raised an eyebrow at the sizable sum of caps Cosima managed to pull out of her bag to pay, but said nothing. Shot nearly point blank in the skull and left for dead up in the graveyard, she thought for sure the courier's assailants wouldn't have left her with anything valuable - the sniper rifle was a surprise enough at first, but now the caps. Guess they weren't after the money, then.

 

"Thanks." Cosima ducked to pet Cheyenne one last time, and then took her things and left without another word, scant so much as a glance Sunny's way.

 

"She's a weird one, isn't she?" Chet asked Sunny, as soon as the door shut and he was satisfied the courier was sufficiently out of earshot.

 

"Depends on what you think is weird." She wasn't going to pretend she didn't know what he meant - since she rolled out of Doc Mitchell's bed two days ago, she'd been quiet, sticking to herself, shacking up with Victor and hardly addressing another soul. But _weird_ was a hard one to peg someone as in this wasteland. That No-Bark fellow she met in Novac a few years ago when she'd been passing through was weird. Dressing up as Roman soldiers and laying waste to the countryside was _weird_. Being quiet and cold just wasn't, especially not after getting shot in the head.

 

Chet shrugged as he turned the hides over in his hands, appraising each one. "Just doesn't seem the courier type, is all. Sure doesn't seem to like talking to people."

 

"Yeah, I guess."

 

"What tribe you think she came from?"

 

"What makes you think she's a tribal?"

 

"The accent, mostly," Chet replied. "Can't place it. That, and Easy Pete mentioned the Legion in the saloon the other day and you'd have thought she smelled Brahmin shit from the look on her face. I'll bet Caesar took her tribe."

 

"Hmm. Maybe." But truth be told, Sunny wasn't convinced she _was_  a tribal. The gun, for one - most tribes relied on blades and blunt objects over firearms. It was part of what made Caesar's Legion so effective: scarcely did the tribes he conquered need training for the machetes that they were to wield when they were made to join. But that sniper rifle had seen a lot of combat, from the looks of it, so if that courier was really a tribal, she must not have seen her family in a long damn time to have switched so comfortably over to firearms entirely. The hair, too; her roots barely showed, dye job well maintained and surely no more than a month old, but they were _there_. And anyways, no one had skin that dark and hair that blonde unless they'd been bleaching it.

 

But maybe she was wrong. Couldn't judge someone so sweepingly just from a few stolen glances.

 

As Sunny mused, Chet spoke up again. "She thinks she's gonna go clear out the cazadores up north on Goodsprings Road."

 

"She's _what?"_  She all but jumped out of her skin, whipping towards the door the courier just walked out of.

 

"I guess she heard someone complaining to Trudy about the one that came down a week ago to harass the bighorners." He carried his words with a tone that just screamed _it's her funeral._  "If she wants to clean them out, be my guest. I'd be happy to buy some poison glands off of her, the caravans pay quite nicely for them."

 

"Chet, she could get herself killed." Sunny didn't sound so convinced, though - that courier was an enigma, but nothing about her suggested she was stupid or arrogant. If she thought she could take out the cazadores, that probably wasn't misplaced pride.

 

"You can get yourself killed getting shot in the head, too, and it didn't seem to stop her."

 

Sunny rolled her eyes, smacked him in the arm, and he smiled.

 

"Anyways, These are all good hides, I'll give you fifty for these three and sixty for the rest."

 

"Sounds good."

 

The jangle of caps as Chet counted out her pay, though, became little more than background noise as her mind wandered, eyes watching through the cracks of the boarded up window for a glimpse of the courier.

 

* * *

The courier did not, in fact, get herself killed. Sunny checked herself.

 

When the sky began to blaze, sun creeping towards the line where heaven touched the earth, and Sunny herself had seen no trace of Cosima, she asked around the saloon. The consensus was mostly the same - neither had anyone else.

 

Two cold sarsaparillas from Trudy tucked into her pack, Sunny made the hike up Goodspring's old road, up the slope and past the old gas station - she waved, on the off chance Ringo was watching. It wasn't like she expected to find a dead body - that was what the sarsaparillas were for. But if the courier _wasn't,_ in fact, just taking her sweet time picking off cazadores, and something really was wrong, Sunny didn't really want to leave her to her fate.

 

The road was uncharacteristically quiet for this time of year; ordinarily, the distant buzzing of cazadores would be her first warning to turn around and clear the hell out of there, but instead, there was quiet, the evening crowing of a distant raven almost soothing. Then, through the peace, a single gunshot.

 

It came from somewhere up the road, so Sunny picked the pace up again and followed it - ordinarily a gunshot wouldn't be so comforting to hear, but on this warm Mojave evening, she knew the courier was on the other side of it, and that was heartening.

 

Sunny found Cosima up on a high ridge - one that took a lot of climbing to get to, and that Cheyenne almost couldn't scale - but by the time she reached the courier, her arrival was no surprise, not after all the noise she'd made getting up there. She only afforded a backwards glance from where she lay, prone on her stomach, eye trained down the sight of her scope. Another gunshot rang out, and in the very distance, at least half a klick away, Sunny watched a cazador - scarcely more than a dot to her - drop.

 

Cheyenne trotted right on up, sticking her nose lovingly into Cosima's neck, licking her cheek in hello, and for the first time, Sunny heard the courier honest-to-god _laugh._

 

"Cheyenne, no!" Sunny lunged forward, grabbing her dog by the scruff, but it was too late - Cosima was already clicking her safety into place and rolling over to sit up, setting her gun aside to welcome an excited Cheyenne into her lap. The smile painted on her face was bright, warm, and absolutely unprecedented out of her.

 

With the cazadores too far off to be an issue, Sunny sat down, leaning against a rock to her side and just watched, Cosima's hands alternating between rubbing behind Cheyenne's ears and scratching up and down her sides, both equally thrilling to the dog who looked like she'd never been pet before.

 

Cosima was pretty, when Sunny really looked at her. She'd even be the kind of girl Sunny liked, if it weren't for the silent and brooding part. Warm skin, too dark to merely be sunkissed, spattered with faint freckles across her cheeks and her shoulders. The blonde hair that framed her face looked well kept, dark roots barely peeking out, and didn't quite brush her shoulders. She was lean, too - not stocky, but built enough, probably from months, maybe years of humping across the wasteland taking packages from place to place. Under that baggy utility jacket she usually wore, though, it was hard to tell - she had merely draped it over her own shoulders while she was sniping for protection from the sun, but now that she was sitting up straight and it had fallen off, and with her sunglasses pushed on top of her head, Sunny could get a real look at her for once.

 

"I've never seen her get so excited about a person before," Sunny remarked, when she decided she was done staring. For a moment it didn't seem like Cosima was going to answer - she just smiled down at the dog, barely even acknowledging Sunny's comment for a few beats of silence.

 

Eventually, though, she replied, "animals just really seem to like me."

 

"I'll say." Sunny smiled, and then swinging her small bag over her shoulder so she could get into it, pulled out one of the two bottles she'd brought up. "Hey. Sarsaparilla?"

 

Cosima looked up, pleasantly surprised, but frowned. "No. Don't wanna draw the cazadores up this ridge - I swear they can smell the shit from a mile away." And Sunny was willing to leave it at that, tucking the bottle back into her bag, but then, after a beat of consideration, "If... you give me just a little bit longer to finish clearing out that swarm, maybe we could drink them back at the saloon...?"

 

She seemed hesitant to even ask, like she'd be rejected, despite the fact that Sunny had offered in the first place. Instead, the hunter just smiled.

 

"Sure. Meet you back there?"

 

The shy smile Cosima gave in response was almost worth the hike up there.

 

* * *

For a little while, Sunny almost thought she'd been stood up.

 

At least an hour passed, sitting in a booth, both of the sarsaparillas empty by now (hey, they were getting warm, she could always buy new ones.)

 

When Blue Moon kicked up on the jukebox for at least the third time that hour, Sunny sighed, and began to stand to pick something else, but Cheyenne's ears picking up stopped her - the saloon door swung open not a moment later, and who would peak their head in but Cosima herself. Sunny smiled, and sat back down.

 

"Sorry. Found a second swarm." Swinging her gun off of her shoulder, Cosima slid into the booth across from Sunny, propping it up beside her and laying her bag down next to it.

 

"Don't worry about it. I really only handle the geckos so it's good to have someone clearing out the cazadores. Nasty little monsters."

 

The courier nodded, and then, seeing the two empty bottles, stood back up again, and announced, "I'll go buy more."

 

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm the one who got impatient." Sunny went to stand, too, but Cosima was already well on her way, waving a hand dismissively, and Sunny sat right back down, for the second time.

 

She watched the way Cosima interacted with Trudy - not rudely, or even stiffly, but quiet, closed off, scarcely even meeting Trudy's eyes as she counted the caps in her palm with scarcely more than a quick once-over and handed them over, replacing the caps in her hands with two sarsaparilla bottles to bring back over. Somewhere at the end, Sunny thought she caught half a smile - more than the courier had afforded Chet, at least.

 

"Thanks." The bottle popped open with the hiss of pre-war effervescence, and Sunny slid the cap the other's way as she took a long drink, carbonation biting the back of her throat. The way Cosima eyed the cap with surprise, you'd almost think she'd never seen one of the damn things before, but she took it and threw it with the rest of hers all the same after a beat of hesitation.

 

A long few moments of silence passed between them - as silent as you could get, anyways, with Sinatra's crooning and the clinking of glasses and chatter between the small handful of patrons surrounding them, each filling in the space of quiet in their own way. Finally, Sunny spoke.

 

"Where'd you come from, anyways?"

 

The question seemed to take Cosima by surprise - like she wasn't expecting to be asked about herself. She blinked a time or two, but eventually answered, curtly, "East."

 

Maybe she did come from one of Caesar's eighty-seven tragedies.

 

"Kinda thought so. Never heard an accent like yours before."

 

"It was my father's," the courier replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. "Not as strong as his, but I picked up parts of his along the way I guess."

 

Sunny nodded. Well, wherever the courier started her road from, she seemed to want to keep that card played closer to her chest.

 

"Gonna be making your way back to him, then?"

 

Cosima seemed to bristle. "No," she replied curtly, colder than Sunny had heard her yet, but she gave pause, took a breath, and tried again. "I have to finish this job I'm on, but my home is more on the road these days. Courier work an all."

 

"Must be hard to settle down when you're running packages all the time."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well, if you're ever looking to retire, maybe think of Goodsprings. We could use someone with an aim like yours keeping an eye on things."

 

"Yeah. Maybe."

 

* * *

It took a few days for the shell to really start to crack open. Or back open, Sunny suspected. The way Cosima dodged questions about her past, maybe the sadness in her really was a permanent fixture, but the courier had laughed too warmly into Cheyenne's fur, smiled too softly for it to be the full story. It was just that getting shot in the head was a hell of a thing, and as she fought to get off her feet, back to the way things were, staying warm and bright seemed like it would be a bit of a challenge.

 

Her routine stayed fixed: head up to Goodsprings Road, or the cemetery, or the Source with Sunny, spend a few hours picking off the varmints that ran loose up there, and spend her evenings in the saloon. The days that weren't spent at the well seemed to be her longest - the scorpions and cazadores came in droves, and some evenings it wasn't till dark actually started to set in that the courier came down from her ledge and made her way back into town. Couldn't see well enough in the dark, she explained, always did try to stay off the roads once the sun fell.

 

But where the routine stayed the same, not always did the details. On their second night at the saloon, Sunny watched Cosima try, and fail, to offer a smile to Trudy, unable to meet her eyes for more than half a second before ducking her head and scurrying back sheepishly to the booth; on the third, the smile was warmer, more genuine, and even if the eye contact didn't last more than a few seconds, it was still enough to make Sunny lean back in the booth with a proud smile. She lingered in Chet's more often, made actual conversation with the shopkeep, sometimes even talked to the other patrons if she was _really_  feeling bold. After about a week and a half being coaxed out of hiding, the warm and bright courier, fetters loosening, began to show.

 

The sixth evening, they spent sitting out on the porch of the Prospector, feet planted in the dirt and a cold sarsaparilla in each their hands; the day hadn't been terribly blistering for once, so the evening was far more pleasant than most, a sweet warm breeze blowing through their hair instead of the sticky heat they were used to. Easy Pete, for once, had taken residence in the saloon itself, whiling the evening away with old friends, and the muffled sounds of the jukebox inside washed out the Mojave evening quiet.

 

"How's your gun holding up?" Sunny asked, watching a raven on a fencepost a dozen or so yards away.

 

Cosima shrugged. "I gave it a good cleaning yesterday, but it could use a few new parts. I'm hoping Chet will get a repair kit on the next caravan that rolls through."

 

"You take good care of that thing, huh?"

 

"Yeah. First real gun I've ever had. The ammo takes a lot out on it, though; it's needed a lot of repairs over the years."

 

"Wow. First gun?"

 

"Yeah. I learned to shoot on a BB gun, but that's not good for much more than popping radroaches, you know?"

 

Sunny nodded. "You must have had real good aim to stick with a sniper rifle for so long then."

 

Cosima looked down at her hands, almost sadly. "Yeah. Used to be a hell of a shot back in the day - aim's not so good anymore. Not since..." She trailed off, but a hand came up to tap the side of her head, where the bullet scar peaked through her hair. Sunny understood.

 

"You did pretty good with those cazadores the other night. Droppin' 'em half a klick away like it was nothing."

 

"My hands shake now - never used to. I spent that whole day getting used to shooting around it; you showing up in the evening saved a lot of face."

 

On closer inspection, she was right - there was a tremor in her hands, maybe not so pronounced, but certainly enough to affect her aim.

 

"I guess it's not so bad," Cosima continued. "When you first learn to shoot with a sniper rifle, it's hard to work around your body's natural movement. Sometimes your hands shake just out of fear. It's all something you learn to work around - what's one more thing added to the pile, you know?"

 

Sunny nodded, face grim. "I hope you give that checkered suit bastard what-for when you catch up to him," she said. But Cosima shook her head.

 

"I just want my package back." For a moment, it sounded like she was going to say something else, but she snapped her mouth shut. It didn't seem like it was the whole story to Sunny.

 

"Awful lot of trouble for a package."

 

"Well, we couriers have a contract, you know," she joked weakly, but after a moment, decided to continue with a sigh. "I took that hike up to Primm the other day to visit the Express office, right? Mr. Nash said it was _Victor_  who hired us six couriers. I did some prodding - from the sound of it, all the securitrons on the Strip are owned by a Mr. House. Few roll around out here, but... there's no telling that Victor himself isn't part of that chain of command. And all of the other couriers made their deliveries without trouble. I was the only one that took a bullet to the skull for what I was carrying."

 

"What are you thinking?"

 

"I'm _thinking_  the other couriers were a decoy for the chip I was supposed to deliver. Whatever it was, it was more than just a glorified poker chip. I want answers - why my life was worth what I had, when the man who shot me didn't really seem the type to kill people just for their valuables. I think it's going to mean leaving him alive when I get to him."

 

"He shot you in the head and made off with your package, Cos, how does that not strike you as the type to rob people blind?"

 

"I still have all my caps, don't I?" She reasoned. "And my rifle, and my handgun, and all my ammo and medical supplies. They weren't after this thing because it was worth a lot of money."

 

"Hmm." Sunny didn't sound so convinced, but Cosima was the bright sort, when you got her talking. She could trust she knew what she was talking about. For now.

 

"I... want to get a little more comfortable with shooting again before heading out," she explained, shifting gears a little. "But after that, I'm going to head down through Primm and take 164 up to the 95 to get to Vegas. They've had a whole week's head start, so I don't think I'll be catching up to them anytime soon, but unless they wanted to deal with those deathclaws that moved into Quarry Junction, I don't think they took the I-15 back to the Strip, so I might catch some breadcrumbs along the way."

 

Sunny tried so hard not to visibly deflate - she knew this was coming, but could anyone blame her for hoping the courier would stay? It sure was nice to have an extra gun around.

 

"It'll be a hell of a walk. Maybe you want some help getting there." No - it was an unfair proposition. Goodsprings needed someone to protect it, especially with everything stirring up with Ringo these days. But she had to ask, make her sentiments clear, because she knew the courier would refuse.

 

"No, Goodsprings needs you. I don't want to take you away from that." She frowned. "And anyways, I just... want to walk this road alone. At least for a little bit."

 

That was an answer Sunny could drink to.

 

* * *

The eighth evening, trouble blew into town. Not the kind of trouble that killed couriers up in the graveyard and broke Trudy's radio - in fact, it seemed much worse than that, and it made Cosima bristle.

 

As soon as she stepped into the saloon, it was clear something was wrong. Sunny grabbed her by the arm and pulled her over before she could stray too close to the bar - it was there Trudy was busy arguing with a man in riot armor. Or perhaps arguing wasn't the right word for it - she wasn't doing much of the talking, arms folded over her chest, expression thoroughly unimpressed, but darker than Cosima had ever seen it.

 

"I'm _done_  being nice," the man hissed, implying he'd been doing so in the first place. "If you don't hand Ringo over soon, I'm gonna get my friends and we're burning the town to the ground, got it?"

 

"Well, we'll keep that in mind." When Trudy got passive-aggressive like this, she could be _scathing_  - Cosima had seen it enough times with patrons that got too rowdy, especially those just passing through the town. "Now, if you're not going to buy something, _get out._ "

 

For a moment it looked like the man had something more to say - or rather, he was desperately looking for some way to get the last word in. Instead, he turned heel, storming out of the saloon, casting Cosima only a harsh glare in his passing. Even once he was gone, the air didn't settle quite right.

 

"Fucking Powder Gangers." It was the harshest Sunny had sworn since the courier met her.

 

"Who?"

 

"A gang of no good convicts that broke out of the NCR correctional facility up the road not long ago. We keep hoping the NCR will send someone in to take care of them, but... well. You saw for yourself."

 

"I'm gonna go see if Trudy's okay," Cosima announced, audibly worried as she gestured the mayor's way and made her way over.

 

Disheveled, Trudy, with one hand on the counter beside her and one hand pushing her hair out of her face, sighed and turned Cosima's way with a frown as she approached hesitantly.

 

"Sorry you had to see that. The usual?"

 

"Are you okay?" The courier asked instead, the worry of what to drink the last thing on her mind right then. Trudy shook her head, but it wasn't meant as a no.

 

"Damn Powder Gangers have been causin' heaps of trouble the past few weeks. You're lucky you missed them up until now."

 

"He mentioned someone named Ringo, what was that about?" She hadn't met a Ringo up until now.

 

"About a week before you got here, this trader, Ringo, blows into town. Survivor of an attack, he says, just needs a place to lie low for a bit. We _assumed_  he was just in shock. Put him up, gave him a place to hide out. We didn't expect anyone to actually come after him."

 

Cosima clicked her tongue. "That's awful."

 

"You're telling me. I'm hoping Ringo will just pack up and leave town one night, take those Powder Gangers with him. I'm sure Sunny and a few of the others would stick up for Ringo if he asked, which he hasn't, but I'm not sure just a small handful of townies are gonna do much good against those damn delinquents."

 

A few townsfolk, no. No matter how good a shot Sunny was. But a sniper might help even those odds out.

 

"Where's Ringo now?"

 

Trudy took a fleeting glance around the bar - just to make sure she hadn't missed someone who wasn't supposed to be there - before replying, "the old abandoned gas station up the hill."

 

Cosima nodded. "Thanks. And, uh - yeah. The usual."

 

* * *

Whatever Ringo said to her, it worked - or perhaps it was the other way around - because the routine changed the next morning.

 

The courier blew through the saloon almost as soon as it opened, sun in the sky hardly more than an hour old, Sunny looking up with shock from the gun she was busy cleaning as soon as Cosima blew past.

 

She had an awful lot to say about why Trudy should help her take down the Powder Gangers when they rolled into town next - strength in numbers, they were coming inevitably anyways, with Cosima sniping she was pretty sure she could keep them from doing any real up-close damage, et cetera, et cetera. And of _course_  Trudy agreed - the kicker was, not because she'd made so many points, but because Trudy "couldn't help" but like her. For as quiet as she'd been, when that courier opened her mouth, she sure had a hell of a way with words.

 

Sunny, of course, was in from the start. Cobb's type didn't up and leave people alone when there was something to be had - even if they got their hands on Ringo in the end, or he slipped off in the night, it was unlikely the Powder Gangers wouldn't circle back around once they decided Goodsprings was a town ripe for the picking. She wasn't about to stand for that.

 

But Sunny was only one person - that was where Trudy had come in, mayor of the town that she was. And Trudy was only a bartender, so that was where Chet, Doc Mitchell, and Easy Pete came in, each able to supply the town and help balance the scales a little more fairly in their own ways. Last Sunny had heard, Easy Pete was the only one the courier couldn't convince - she nor any of the rest of the townsfolk knew their way around dynamite well enough, and that was fair, but Victor had been convinced to help, so that might help make up the odds.

 

The roof of the saloon made a tremendous sniper's nest, according to Cosima, so that was where she'd be taking watch for the next little while, in the hopes that she could catch sight of the Powder Gangers early, maybe even take a few of them out from afar, lighten the load a little. Those townsfolk that had agreed to help would be holed up in the saloon, awaiting a signal, while those who had not would be waiting it out in their homes, probably praying to whatever they thought was out there that the town could get by without their help. Chet would guard the general store from inside, Doc would be waiting it out in his home - what good was the town saved if they had no doctor, after all? - and Victor would be roaming the streets like usual, a keen eye out for anything amiss from below while their courier kept watch from above.

 

For a while, everything was quiet - some wondered if playing a waiting game was really wise, letting fear control them like that. Trudy just told them to wait.

 

The first sign of trouble came at 4 O'Clock that afternoon with three firm knocks against the roof of the saloon - the signal, for if the courier caught any Powder Gangers on the horizon - and then, moments later, a gunshot. Sunny recognized it as Cosima's.

 

"Looks like trouble found us." She stood, grabbing her gun. "Let's go."

 

* * *

 

The Mojave sky burned like a wildfire at early dusk, gentle pinks bruising the border between scorched oranges and soft afternoon blues. Sunny liked this time of day best - hottest hours of the day behind them and the whole town winding down for the long dark of night, the evening air carried a peace like no other. Days where the air had been cool enough, she could spend the evening on the front porch, or leaned against the old wooden fence out behind the saloon, a cold sarsaparilla in hand as the distant crows of ravens and the occasional far-off gunshot permeated the otherwise quiet Mojave eventide.

 

The town was quieter than usual, even though the danger had passed - most residents wanted to stay inside for fear of a second wave of Powder Gangers, but Sunny was pretty sure that was the last of them. The last of the ones willing to come pick a fight, anyways. Chet had agreed to let the townsfolk keep the supplies he lent, although it had cost him a fortune; Cosima promised to repay him as soon as she was able, whenever that may be, but it meant that from here out the town would be ready in case someone else got brave like that again. If word spread, though, like it always did, she figured Goodsprings would develop a little reputation for being protected. That would serve them well in years to come, if they could keep it up.

 

There were injuries, of course. Mostly burns from the dynamite the little bastards insisted on tossing around, but a few bullet holes here and there - the armor did a good job at keeping people safe, but it also meant that, nine times out of ten, if a bullet got through, it sure as hell didn't have the velocity to come back out. Which meant none of it was so easy a simple stimpak could fix it.

 

Sunny was more than surprised to learn their courier was a doctor by trade, too - not just some wasteland medic, but a doctor proper, years of education under her belt. So she spent most of the aftermath at Doc Mitchell's, helping take care of the townies that couldn't quite make it out unscathed, everything from bullet grazes to limbs nigh mangled by the blasts. Sunny prayed none of it would be too bad.

 

Finding the bottom of her bottle, Sunny crossed the patch of dirt that stood between her and the wire fence behind the saloon, Cheyenne circling around her legs as she walked, and set it with the other's she'd lined up to shoot for sport whenever she spent evenings alone back here. Movement at her right caught her eye, and she turned to see the courier herself rounding the corner, two full sarsaparilla bottles in hand, dripping condensation - Cosima eyed the setup curiously, and Sunny gestured for her to follow as she returned to the other fence.

 

"These must be those sarsaparilla bottles you said needed shooting." Cosima passed one of the full ones her way.

 

"Still do, if you're up for it."

 

The courier laughed. "I hope you don't mean that as a challenge, because I'm not sure that'd be a fair fight."

 

"Doesn't have to be a competition. Here." Slinging it over her shoulder, Sunny passed her varmint rifle the other's way. "No fancy scopes or anything, just good old fashioned iron sights. Take a crack at it."

 

Cosima smiled, inspecting the gun for a moment before hoisting it up to her shoulder. It was well loved, just like hers - perhaps a little more battered, and certainly not worn with as much age, but still well kept, and used often. At the very base, near the butt of the gun, a transcription caught her eye - faded, but still readable, Cosima traced her thumb over it with a gentle sort of curiosity in her eyes. _The longest road out is the shortest road home._

 

"It was on the gun when I got it," Sunny explained, catching her eying it. "But I liked it so much I've had it touched up a few times over the years."

 

"Good words to live by," the courier murmured, almost distantly. Bringing the gun up to sit squarely in her shoulder, she situated herself, slowed her breathing, tried to control the tremor in her hands. It was no sniper rifle, but shooting in the sweet spot was second nature by now - finding the bottom of her breath, the space between heartbeats, she squeezed the trigger, watching the bottle shatter between her sights. Four of the remaining six went just as smoothly, till the gun clicked, empty.

 

"Nice shot." Sunny took the gun back, reloading it, knocking off the last two. "You've got a good handle on that tremor already."

 

"Not in the heat of things, though. That's when it's gonna come up and bite me."

 

"Good thing you don't get up close and personal, then. What's that 1st Recon slogan again? _Last thing you never see._  Sounds like you."

 

"Don't think I'd make a good soldier. Been wandering too damn long - I'd hate to be tied down to one place like that."

 

Something about her words left a twinge of disappointment in Sunny's chest. "They see a lot of action, from what I hear. Lots of travel."

 

"Not quite what I meant."

 

"Well. Wherever your long road takes you, I hope it leads you back home."

 

_Yeah,_ Cosima thought. _Me too._

 

* * *

 

A part of her considered up and leaving without saying anything - make it easier on everyone. Don't draw the goodbyes out.

 

But then, that wouldn't be fair to Sunny, after everything she'd done for the courier. She couldn't keep running in the middle of the night like this.

 

Cosima was out the door when the sky was still periwinkle, sun still buried beneath the horizon, knocking gently on Sunny's door. The hunter would be up by now, for sure - she only hoped she didn't wake Trudy in the process.

 

Disheveled, still blinking sleep from her eyes, Sunny opened the door, Cheyenne trotting out to thread between their legs, and Cosima smiled sheepishly. "Hey."

 

"Hey. Awfully early, isn't it?"

 

"Yeah. Just wanted to stop by on my way out."

 

"Oh." That seemed to kick her into gear somewhat. Stepping out, Sunny closed the door behind her. "You're leaving already?"

 

"Yeah. Sorry it's such short notice." _I wasn't going to say anything at all,_ she thought, but made a point to bite it back. Her hand reached down to scratched Cheyenne behind the ears.

 

"Wish you could stay longer. But I guess you've got that package to track down, huh?"

 

"Yeah. Got a long road ahead of me." A road that wouldn't just end at the chip, she suspected. This was bigger than a delivery now. "I wanted to hit it early, try to close the distance between me and Vegas as much as I could."

 

"When do you think you'll swing back around?"

 

The courier shrugged.

 

"Make it soon, okay? You know Cheyenne would never forgive you if you made a stranger of yourself."

 

Cosima laughed. "I know, I know."

 

"I wouldn't be too happy, either." There was a serious note to her voice, whole tone shifting, and if Cosima got a little misty eyed at it, she couldn't be blamed.

 

"I know. C'mere." Reaching out, she pulled Sunny into a tight hug, ducking her face into the other's shoulder. And for a few long moments they just stayed like that, silence between them, till at last Sunny willed herself to break away first, only to duck in and press a kiss to Cosima's temple.

 

"Take care of yourself, courier."

 

By the time the sun rose over Goodsprings, Courier Six was long gone.


End file.
